Florence Nightingale?

I know that I have related the nursing prowess of Mud Flap in past entries. However, I had forgotten the most memorable of times when this particular skill set became apparent. It was three years ago. We had weathered many a tough time in the 36 years we had been married at that point. I felt that we had moved to a superior plane….one that would give us the innate ability to care and nurture one another in sickness. (and health…Mud Flap had that one down anyway!)

I had been diagnosed with a “deteriorating hip joint” and was scheduled for a hip replacement. Because my doctor of choice for this procedure was located in another city, it was necessary for me to be in the hospital in that city – i.e., Mud Flap was in a hotel and had much time on his hands. I worried that this would be problematic. But have no fear. He had resolved the issue. He scheduled several “necessary meetings” to be held at that location – time wise to coincide with my hospital stay. I was asked prior to going, “Now what time is your surgery? And do I have to be there?” This, of course, gave me great comfort as it is necessary to have someone available to make any life or death decisions while I am in surgery. Not only necessary, but required by the hospital and the doctor. My response a very terse “Yes”.

This did not set well with Mud Flap who then asked “How long will it take?” My lack of ability to predict the length of the surgery was met with utter distain. Not only my intelligence but compassion for his situation was questioned. “I run a multi-million dollar company and I need to know these things!” I promised, to the best of my ability, to make sure that the surgery went well and that I wouldn’t be too much of a burden to him.

The day of my surgery arrived. We went to the hospital. I was duly prepped and sedated and the surgery took place. I awoke in my hospital room to find him pacing and doing his e-mail. “You awake?” I replied, albeit a bit groggily, that I was. “Great! I need to meet (name a name, any name) and I’ll be gone for a couple of hours. “ I nodded and watched him leave the room.

The next time I saw him was that evening, after dinner had been served and after two physical therapy sessions. “How are you feeling?” “I’m not too bad, but because I can’t take any of the medications available, I’m in a bit of pain.” “Great!” And he eyed my dinner. “You hungry?” “Not really, why don’t you eat it!” “Great” And he ate my dinner, watched television and left within the hour.

The following day began as expected – physical therapy, doctors rounds, nurses helping me bathe etc. At noon, I got my first visit from Mud Flap. He was on his way to a meeting. “Just wanted to say hello! On my way!” After a quick peck, he left, not to return until the next morning. I decided that this would be the best medicine…nap and bed rest.

But, that would not be the situation! At 1:00 pm, a mere thirty minutes after his departure, there was a knock on my door. “Are you awake?” There stood a bald, ear ringed man, wearing a tight fitted wife beater and skin tight leather pants. “Yes, may I help you?” “I’m Brad, and I work at the bar at your husband’s hotel” Silence. “He asked me to come and visit with you. How are you?” And, that began a four hour visit with a gay bartender that my husband had hired to visit me in the hospital! We discussed his love life, his future with his significant other, the décor of his apartment, and the list goes on. Nurses continued to pop their heads in, with inquiring looks on their faces. But, to no avail. I was held prisoner in my bed for the duration.

Leave it to Mud Flap to hire a gay bartender to visit me in the hospital. Florence Nightingale? I think not.